Page 8 of The Heart Breaker

Her eyes snap up to mine, her lips pressing into a thin line. “You want to see me fall apart, is that it? You want to see me sobbing in the parking lot so you can finally say you told me so?” She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s not happening.”

I blow a bubble and let it pop. “Guess snakes really do shed their skin fast.”

She tips her chin up, her blue eyes going cold. “Save the lecture, Reaper. You just like being right. You don’t give a shit about me.”

My fingers tighten around the strap of my bag, my pulse beating hard in my temple. “You’re right. I don’t.”

I turn away and catch sight of Ryan and Isabella by the curb, both of them wide-eyed, not even pretending they didn’t hear a word. My grip tightens on the strap of my bag as I adjust it and head for my car without looking back.

I just need to get the hell away from her. Need her as far out of my life as possible.

4

AURORA

Someone’s watching me.

Again.

I cross one leg over the other, settle back in my seat, and spin my pen between my fingers, pretending to hang on every word Professor Williams drones on from the front of the hall. My notebook’s open in front of me, but my notes stopped making sense about ten minutes ago.

Truth is, I haven’t heard a thing he’s said in the last ten minutes. Mostly because I can’t tune out the whispering behind me. The girls in the second row have been at it since class started, and somehow they think I can’t hear my own name tangled in what’s coming out of their mouths, but I hear it all.

Constantly.

Doesn’t matter where I am. On campus. At parties. Even in class.

It never ends.

People haven’t stopped talking about my breakup with Chase. Turns out, when you smash a bottle of whiskey in front of a house full of people, word travels fast about how ‘crazy’ you are.

I cross my legs, smooth my skirt, and sit up a little straighter, refusing to give them even a flicker of satisfaction. My chin lifts and I keep my eyes on the whiteboard, not looking back. Not even when another hushed giggle slips out behind me.

I didn’t plan to lose my shit that day in Westbrook. Didn’t plan to snap. But there I was, standing in that godawful bedroom, staring at the tangled sheets he’d just rolled around in with another girl while he shrugged it off like it meant nothing.

Like I meant nothing.

And everything I’d been holding in spilled out in front of everyone. Now I have to relive it every time someone decides to whisper about it behind my back.

He used to tell me he couldn’t imagine his life without me. He begged me to follow him to Westbrook, and when I said I needed to go to Colton U—when I tried to give us both an easy out—he wouldn’t let me go. Said long distance would be worth it. He kissed me and promised we’d make it work.

I should’ve ended it right then. Should’ve cut my losses and saved myself the wreckage, the humiliation, the pain of standing in that doorway, watching him with another girl on our anniversary, realizing I’d been replaced a long time ago.

Another whisper cuts through the row behind me, a little too loud. This time I don’t bother pretending I didn’t hear it. I turn in my seat and meet their eyes, arching a brow.

Their faces shift instantly, the color draining from their cheeks when they realize I caught it. They drop their gazes to their notebooks, suddenly very interested in whatever they’re scribbling.

I turn back around and let out a slow breath.

I waited two years to get into this class. I’m not letting anything else get in the way of that.

Every semester I sat at my laptop, finger hovering over the refresh button, hoping someone would finally drop or graduateand leave just one seat open. Two years of checking. Two years of telling myself it would be worth it once I got in.

Now I’m finally here, sitting in the seat I spent forever chasing, and I can’t even focus. I thought it would feel different. Like something would finally click into place.

Instead, I’m just… here. Staring at the blank page in front of me, with a restless energy prickling under my skin.

“How many of you believe you’re in control of who you are? Your habits, your relationships, the way you handle stress?”